Summer 1957

A chance meeting.

It was the summer of 1957, and twelve year old Ken Hutchinson was on his way home, heading to the airport with his mother, father and younger sister. His father’s business had brought him to Bay City for a week and he had chosen to combine it with a family holiday.

Ken was going to miss the warm and sunny weather. He lived in Minnesota and there it would get hot but also very humid. He’d loved the beach. He had spent some of his money on a postcard. It showed golden sand, blue sea, and the name Venice Beach written in script in the right hand corner. When he got home he would pin it up in his room, by his bed to remember.

The car slowed in the traffic, queuing at lights. “I can’t believe all this traffic, we better not miss the plane,” his father said, tapping on the steering wheel in impatience. Ken was sitting behind his mother. She reached up to tidy her hair, it was something she did when his father began to get irate, a nervous habit.

The car began to get stuffy as it stood in traffic. Ken wound down the window as far as it would go to let some air in. Looking to his right he saw a group of boys about his age playing baseball on an open space. Ken could hear a curly haired kid giving orders to his team but the car was too far away to make out what he was saying. He was standing behind a small, skinny kid who had a NY Yankees baseball cap on his head, which was a little too big for him. He was aged around eight and was about to bat.

The pitcher nodded at the curly haired kid as he prepared to throw the ball. When he threw the ball it curved to the right. The kid with the bat swung but missed the ball completely, so the curly haired kid caught it with his catcher’s mitt. Ken noticed with some interest that he was a leftie. The boy leapt up with a big lop-sided grin on his face. Celebrating that it had been a good throw and a good catch.

The kid with the bat turned to look at the curly haired kid. Dropping the bat his face crumpled with misery. He brought his hands up to his face, and wiped the tears away leaving his face dirt-streaked. The curly haired kid put an arm out to comfort him, and as he did so he gave a look to the other boys. One of them threw his arms up in disgust as the curly haired kid handed the bat back to the younger boy, slapped his backside and signalled to the pitcher to throw again.

This time the pitcher gave a gentle throw, underarm. The ball seemed to hang in the air giving the kid with the bat all the time in the world to get ready. He hit the ball, dropped the bat and began to run. The ball hadn’t gone far but nobody seemed in a hurry to retrieve it. As the skinny kid ran from base to base the other boys all looked at the curly haired kid who walked over to the ball. He was obviously timing it so as the kid scored a home run he appeared to have just missed his chance to tag him out.

The skinny kid whooped for joy as he slid for home.

On an unspoken signal the boys gave up the game. They ran off the empty lot and down the sidewalk. The curly haired kid went with them but as Ken watched he seemed to remember that they’d forgotten the bat and went back for it. As he came back onto the sidewalk, struggling to shove the ball into the pocket of his ratty jeans he looked up and made eye contact with Ken.

He smiled at him, taking in the blond, brylcreamed hair and questioning blue eyes. “Hiya” he said.

“Davey, come on,” came a shout. The curly haired kid, Davey, turned to look for his friends and took off down the street at a run.

The lights must have changed, the car began to move, and as it picked up speed it passed the group of boys running along the sidewalk laughing. As they passed Ken leaned out of the window a little, watching the curly haired kid until he disappeared from sight.